engraved
by oswins
Summary: They say that every life that has been lived, and all the stories that are to come are carved into the very core of the earth. —fifty pairings and fifty lives they could have lived; a collection of au's. :: i. JamesLily ; ii. lilyroxy ; iii. James is something; Sirius is nothing: together they are everything /highschool!au ::
1. torment

i. torment

_—_

put another rubber bullet  
in my back again  
you slip, you slip.

–bayonne, little comets

_—_

You dream about her every night; whilst the other soldiers toss and turn in their narrow bunks, their little sleep haunted by visions of the horror of the world on the other-side of your fragile battlements. But you – you're terrified to even close your eyes because you know instead of seeing the gore and the terror of the front line, all you see is her face – a myriad alabaster skin, green eyes and hair that burns like the fire smoldering at the pit of your heart – looming over your face.

(sometimes you wonder if that makes you a deserter.)

(but then you realise that the monster in you, doesn't really care.)

.

You're a Private – the lowest of the low – but the other soldiers can't help but admire you. There's something about you – the easy charm, the half smirks – that heightens the fallen the morale of the men which has fallen so low you're not even sure it can be picked up from the icy hell into which it has tumbled – head first, so fast they weren't even aware that their feet had been swept from under them in a shower of shrapnel and the blood of their fallen comrades.

But the thing is, you're not so sure that they they would respect you so much if they knew the whole truth.

.

You're not sure that they would still laugh through the tears if they knew it all – if they could see into the diseased, corrupted brain which has manifested inside your head. If they could see the images which haunt your every waking hour – the pain and the anguish and the images. The images of her red hair splayed out like a sea of blood around her pale face; green, green eyes staring up at you, filled with every reminder of regret. The memories of soft lips on yours, a baby bump and tiny fingers. Then the memories of a white, white dress; a silver blade; a pool of blood.

.

You see at all – every day, every hour, every minute, every second – and as much as it hurts, as much as it kills, you just can't forget.

* * *

**a/n: **_i have recently developed a penchant for au's, so i decided to make a collection. i aim for this to be fifty chapters but i don't know how well that is going to go – we'll take it as it goes, I suppose! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and if there are any particular pairings + au's you want, drop me a review and let me know! i will write pretty much anything!_

_please don't follow/favourite without reviewing!_


	2. paint

ii. paint

—

you're lost little girl  
you're lost  
tell me, who are you?

–you're lost little girl, the doors

—

She paints her like she isn't broken. Like her heart is still whole and the little cracks running over her marble skin aren't really there at all. She paints her like she is still so beautifully light; like her face isn't lost to the shadows of a failed love and there is still a part of her which which shines.

Lily paints Roxanne like she would paint a Goddess and slowly she falls in love.

.

"Find me," Roxanne whispers one morning, when the pair of them lie side by side, in a bed which was really made for one but neither of them really care anymore because with their arms around each other, watching the sun rise over a New York skyline this is close to what could be called perfect in this broken world.

So, Lily traces the maps across her body; she trails her fingers between the arch of Roxanne's back, under the curve of her neck, over the heat of her cheeks until she meets her lips and Roxanne realises she was never really lost in the first place.

.

"Love me," Lily whispers as the cruel, breaking winds of fate twist between them, pushing Roxanne away from her. But even now, as they grasp their lovers fading finger tips, their feet have lost their grip and together they begin to fall.

(fasterandfasterdarkeranddarker)

.

"Paint me," Roxanne says. So Lily does, she smears a line of red down Roxanne's cheek; runs her paintbrush down the curve of her side, leaving a trail of kisses mixed with a blue paint which reminds Roxanne of a sun rising into cerulean sky in the heart of New York. Lily fills the cracks in Roxanne with colour, leaving no part of her body untouched by the myriad of paint.

.

Bit by bit – crack by crack – Lily paints Roxanne and they fall in love all over again – two mundane girls caught in a world of Gods.

* * *

**a/n: **_well, i hope you enjoyed – once again please let me know if there are any particular pairings/au's you would like to see! also, all inspiration for this fic comes from the gorgeous **ink teardrops **and her fic **masterpiece **which you must all go and read – i love you forever, elzy!  
_

_please don't follow/favourite without reviewing!_


	3. popular

iii. popular

—

darling, are you popular?  
we thought you were honest,  
but you keep secrets in your refrac.

–darling alistair, little comets

—

Boiled down – with your skin bared and your heart open – all you really are is hate, isn't that right, darling? He flashes his eyes and snaps his teeth – one more harsh word, one more glance of hazel is all that's needed to send someone over the edge.

Except for some reason he's popular. They clamor around him, begging for attention, for his respect, for his tolerance. Because that's all we really want, right? To be respected.

We want to be able to dance along the dark side of the moon but still be able to shine. And that's the thing – that underneath all James Potter's layers and layers of honest hatred, he still shines.

(you wonder maybe if that's why he fell in love with you.)

.

He's the star of the football team and you're nothing but a waste of space who spends his lunch breaks sitting behind the toilets smoking from your homemade cigarettes, so you're never quite sure why James Potter falls for you. You're never quite sure why he lets you kiss him in the corner of the sports field, your lips intermingled, laced with harlequin smoke. You're never sure why he drags his fingers down your back, leaving half moon scars between your shoulders as he mumbled just how much he /fucking loves you./ You're never sure why James Potter noticed you in the first place.

.

Your relationship is oh so twisted but you can help loving the moonlight trysts on the roof of the school, watching cigarette smoke, mixed with cold breaths, rising up into a starless sky. You can't help falling in love, time and time again with a boy who doesn't really care.

.

James Potter is something; Sirius Black is nothing: together they are everything.

* * *

**a/n: **_this was...peculiar, but i enjoyed writing in none the less, and i hope you enjoyed reading it! please review and let me know any pairings/scenario's you would like!_**_  
_**


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